


Unrequited Love

by Avaya



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 02:40:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7917229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avaya/pseuds/Avaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clark Kent finds out that unrequited love is the worst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unrequited Love

**Author's Note:**

> We can go all the time. We can move fast, then rewind. When you put your body on mine and collide (collide).  
> It could be one of those nights, but we don’t turn off the lights. Want to see your body on mine and collide (collide).  
> -Justine Skye: Collide
> 
> This piece of shameless smut was inspired by the song Collide from Justine Skye. In particular, the chorus I quoted.

Bathed in darkness with gentle snow cascading outside the window, Clark Kent lied naked on his cheap bed in his Metropolis apartment. He is unable to sleep due to what he is about to do. Shutting out all other noise, he dulled his hearing to _that_ specific heartbeat. Once found, he narrowed his vision to find the object of his desire.

Over the past few months, he unwittingly caught wind of a dalliance between two unlikely members of the Justice League. It had been during one of his spontaneous visits to Gotham after assisting Metropolis—Wayne Manor to be specific—when he caught them in the throes of passion.

It turned him on immensely. Instead of bashfully turning away to give them privacy, he tucked himself away on the top of Wayne Tower…and jacked himself off while watching them from afar, splattering himself on concrete.   _So unbecoming of_ _Superman_ many would scowl, but he _i_ _s_ a man with needs.

That had been the beginning of his kinky voyeuristic adventures. He treated them as usual whenever they met. As soon as they departed to get frisky—he would know by using his X-Ray vision—he sought a private place to watch—if no one needed saving.

Like in the Watchtower showers when Bruce Wayne pinned Hal Jordan and force-fed him his cock, which he hungrily swallowed.

Or the well-maintained gardens of Wayne Manor during the Valentine’s Day party, Hal frantically riding Bruce in the crisp night air, hidden—from all but him, of course—under a large cherry blossom tree and among bushes of the same flora.

Even Wayne Corporation’s personal plane, Hal’s face buried in the pillow he clasped as Bruce pummeled his ass from behind. _That_ had been memorable—erotically cumming forty thousand feet in the air while lying atop the plane, wind whipping through his hair.

Throughout it all, Clark never thought of joining their escapades. He didn’t like to share and the manner they feverishly took each other implied that a third party wasn’t essential…or wanted. But he mulled over the idea, especially after what had occurred recently.

Unnoticeable affection for Bruce had crept up whether he wore the Batsuit or posed for GQ or People’s Sexiest Man Alive. It began innocently after having adjusted to his kink, constantly reminded of how skilled the savvy businessman was at everything—from performing in front of the wealthy to engaging otherworldly enemies as a human. It evolved to indecently scrutinizing his actions like when he ingested a piece of fruit or wrapped his lips around a straw to take a sip. It soon developed into Clark calling his name out as he finished quite a few times. And culminated with a profound yearning of Bruce ramming his thick cock inside of him.

What intrigued him _most_ about Bruce? Clark debated with himself, pillowing an arm above his head while fleeting touching his body. Why was he in love with him?

It was his smirk—the easy upturn of his lips that let one know his amusement. Or maybe the trademark scowl permanently etched on his face, reserved for Hal.

It could be the way his bare hips swayed when he walked—a saunter that exuded confidence and sensuality that was apparent as he approached his lover. Silent steps trailed along luxurious carpet, the room colored in a delicate light as he neared.

Perhaps the reason lied in the gentle touches that singed with unfathomable pleasure: loving brushes of fingers along his lover’s thigh, tender squeezes on his ass, delicate twisting of nipples, and lustful bite of a lower lip. Hal ran his hands along Bruce’s body and into his hair.

Maybe Clark’s attraction commenced when he found that the only uncovered part of Bruce Wayne’s armor could set him off instantly—his mouth passionately capturing Hal’s own. He listened to the longing moans sweetly shared.

Huh. That was new.

Hal angled his head away as Bruce selfishly nipped his neck. The need to claim him bled from him with every action—roaming hands that stilled when they caught hold of Hal’s cock to stroke, gripping brown locks possessively. His body rocked against Hal who swayed with him, Bruce’s cock rousing from its slumber.

Clark gasped as his fingers slipped beneath his sheet to take hold of himself, not surprised to find himself achingly hard.

He envied Hal. The man _always_ bore magenta blemishes after their raucous encounters. True, Clark didn’t have to _look_. But he wasn’t always able to indulge his fetish. So he made sure to examine Hal whenever he returned from his heroic exploits. Almost interminably, Hal had been ravaged.

It…offended him. They couldn’t _wait_? Did Bruce _have_ to devotedly etch his tanned skin?

Moving his fingers along his swelled length, Clark decided he had no right to feel slighted. Superman didn’t bruise…so he would never be able to be properly marked. Not to mention that the other two didn’t _know_ about his breach of privacy. But it was impossible to refrain from being reminded because of Hal.

The brunette didn’t conceal his discolorations when the League met in casual attire, much to Bruce’s chagrin and the companionable pestering of the others. He didn’t hide them when he met Clark for lunch or Bruce hosted dinners just for them.

The displeasure in Bruce’s face had been clear each time but it recently seeped away after Hal’s insistent continuation. Clark thought it could be due to Bruce figuring out that Hal would do exactly what _Hal_ wanted and Bruce could do nothing about it. Is that why Bruce was handling Hal so violently now? After what happened last night?

Even so…Bruce’s desire to control every aspect of his life _definitely_ excited him. His uncanny ability to morph from dominating sadist to passionate lover did as well. Maybe that was what kindled Clark.

Kneading himself harder, he observed Bruce leading Hal towards the bed. Tongues were tied in an ardent display of desire. Hal panted with want as he grappled with Bruce—an act of defiance that turned the other man on.

They wrestled as they fell onto the lush bed. The mass of entangled limbs and harsh breaths made Clark keen, eyes fluttering. His legs spread, strong frame gyrating upwards in time with his wrist. He tossed his quilt aside in order to have an unobstructed view of himself. Reaching down, he massaged his balls. Lusty oceans sought the two men.

Copper eyes were trained on Bruce as Hal trifled with strands of ebony hair. He lied on his back, his lover over him as kissed his way down his body. He ensured to bite every bit he came into contact. Pausing at his nipples, he gently held one between his teeth as he pinched the other. He grazed it with his tongue, working his teeth so Hal would feel delicious pain. A sharp hiss warned him that he should keep going.

Harder.

Clark tried to tease his own to no avail. It didn’t seem to have the same effect that it did on Hal. Perchance it required someone else to do it. But if Bruce bit him there—as he did to Hal’s other nipple currently—would he become slowly undone as Hal?

Bruce continued his descent, skin flawless before he passed over, now a litany of developing bruises. When he rested between sturdy legs, he disregarded the uncircumcised cock to tenderly suck on the round sacs of flesh extending from it. A firm grasp on Hal’s thigh held him still.

Clark licked his hand hurriedly, spitting on it before grasping his balls again. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend that Bruce’s saliva was generously coating him. Just think about those callused hands pulling on his cock with a deft twist. Fixate on that husky baritone calling out _Kal_ instead of mixing up a letter.

Damn. Imagining was one thing. Witnessing him do it was another.

With a frustrated groan, he concentrated on the recognizable heartbeats and focused his vision once more.

As he had numerous times before, Clark changed his mind. His interest in Bruce bore fruit due to the man’s sharp tongue and how he could cut someone down or uplift them whenever he opened his mouth. He watched it close over Hal’s swollen head, suckling and lavishing it with his expert tongue.

Did his tongue tease over the slit? It must have due to Hal’s back arching from the bed.

What about the underside of his tongue? Did it circle beneath the head? Hal’s whimpering gave him his answer.

Some men were stimulated when the barest edges of teeth scraped against him. Would he—?

“ _Fuck Bruce_.” Hal breathed into his pillow, fingers curling into it. Others slid along his body to play with ebony locks. Fond bronzes admired the man between his legs who bestowed a similar look.

Then Bruce’s head fondly dipped, engulfing him completely. Beautiful lips slid along the shaft, revealing a sheen coat of saliva. Thoughtfully licking along the mushroom tip, he plunged down—tonguing his lover on the way—to nuzzle the hair resting around the girth in his mouth.

Clark leered at the chestnut-haired man. Eyebrows furrowed and a frown graced barely parted lips. They all knew he strained with the effort to not thrust his hips up, burying his cock into Bruce’s mouth because Bruce didn’t like that. He loved for his lover to be spoiled and relax whenever he savored him. Bruce wanted to perform all the work—a simple gesture of desire.

Clark watched enough times to know. Pre-cum leaked from him, reducing the possibility of friction burn. He buffed his cock with it while palming his balls gently.

As Bruce earnestly devoured Hal, he listened to their noises. His distinct pulse is another in a long list of _Why I Want You to Fuck Me’_ s. Strong and steady usually, his quickening rhythm betrayed his eagerness and want.

Or the yearning moans he _willingly_ let out with his mouth full of Hal that spoke of personal pleasure.

Then again, the enticing mewls he drew out of his lover revealed that his mouth is  _perfect_ in other ways.

Hal _popped_ from Bruce as the he lifted his head. Not wishing for Hal to gather his bearings, he tongued his balls, teeth barely grating on them. Then to the space between them and his destination, a gentle nip causing Hal to jolt and whimper.

Adoring russet eyes flared bright when Bruce slid his tongue along the puckering rosebud. They dimmed as he continued to greedily wet the hole. He teased the entrance with a few jabs. Even placed a few gentle kisses, lingering for a few seconds. The hold in his hair tightened minutely whenever it happened.

Did those hairs tickle his clean-shaven face? Is that why he smiled—albeit slightly—or is it because he loved making louder sounds come from Hal?

How did it taste? Clark wanted to know. He never wanted to do it, but he found himself brushing the roof of his mouth, salivating at the delectable sight. Irrational argument, true, but his death could come tomorrow so why not oblige a fantasy?

Such an attentive lover. Clark added this to his never-ending list.

Bruce continued to bathe Hal’s entrance in preparation of what would soon come. His cock twitched while his deep reflective pools of blue never left what was _his_. Is he gazing at the constricting ring? Did it clench tightly and relax, repeating in an effort so that it _begged_ for only what Bruce obtained? Or did it work both ways—actively seducing Bruce to whittle down his self-restraint?

As entrancing as Clark assuredly believed it was, he thought the true treasure lied above, scarcely holding himself together.

Hal’s body blushed a light rosy hue. Amorous-laden eyes fluttered. Fierce outbursts of passion left kiss-swollen lips. Mussed hair grew messier whenever Hal moved on the large pillow.

He looked absolutely ravishing.

“ _Bruce_.” The need within the spoken name is all that Bruce required.

Both rose to meet half-way. Mouths seized each other in a more desperate fashion. Clark imagined the tongues fighting in passion, neither relenting as Bruce used his heavier body to press Hal back into the mattress.

He closed his eyes briefly, forcibly stilling himself. Though he didn’t sweat, his flushed body, squeezing balls, and hard exhales clued in that he was _so_ close. But he didn’t want to cum yet. Not when one of his favorite parts of their escapades currently unfurled.

Clark delved into his night table, quickly opened the bottom dresser. He produced a bottle of lube and a large dildo bought specifically for this occasion. Setting the dildo aside, he lathered himself amply.

Returning to the unaware couple, Bruce was on his knees between Hal. He held a blue bottle of KY Yours, liberally applying a generous amount of the contents onto his fingers. Hal grinned as Bruce leisurely polished him, pushing into his hand to demonstrate his approval.

Relinquishing his pleasure for _his_ pleasure. Another check-mark.

After drenching his fingers again with some poured onto his cock, the bottle fell from his clutches. He dotingly pet his cock while attentively eyeing his lover mimic him. A few drops had escaped to stain the luxurious sheets, but neither noticed. The bedspread would become more sullied before the night faded.

Clark imitated Bruce, thumbing the liquid along his fingers. He didn’t need thorough preparation—he wouldn’t feel anything but slight discomfort. Yet he still wanted to share in the experience.

Strange. He didn’t see a condom like he had multiple times before. Maybe Bruce would slip it on while all three were lost in tumultuous passion?

Hal’s legs widened while he admired his lover. “Come on, baby.” His sultry voice pleaded. “I need you.”

Another smirk from Bruce. Digits swept over the bud before one gently imbedded himself. Clark beheld the sight—Bruce slowly working his lover open for him. Hal hungrily clamped at the lone explorer, not sated but joyful at something being inside of him. Hips pushed against them in a pace that Clark guessed tortured Hal.

Clark realized Hal was right. As he pushed in one of his own, his body responded enthusiastically. It bit down around him as he moved into sweltering heat but it felt so _empty_. He needed…

“More.” He murmured, biting his lower lip.

A second finger wriggled in with the first. Then a third, all slow and steady. Sighs escaped from Hal, his hole eager to suckle and hold them in. It lamented when they pulled out, clinching down to prevent escape. When it felt their return, relief showed in the form of a renewed enthusiasm to swallow them.

Clark pondered dazedly if the squelching came from his own lewd fingers, driving as far as they could into him. It felt _good_ but also not enough. He wanted something bigger to fill him.

Bruce leaned over Hal to capture his lips, normally icy blues now warmed with affection. An arm draped over his shoulders to hold him close while Bruce let himself go to cup Hal’s ass, squeezing. As the kiss deepened, Clark ogled the open exchange of tongues, intricately wounding with no want of escape.

Hal caressed the battle scars decorating his arm and back, moaning unashamedly. His body—still moving against the intruding fingers—glided against Bruce. It caused the other man to react similarly.

Eventually, he slid between their bodies to handle Bruce’s cock. “I want this now.” He murmured, exerting pressure to emphasize his point.

“Me too.” Clark whined as he palmed his cock. “So bad.”

Bruce buried his face in Hal’s neck, withdrawing his fingers which led to a sob of protest quickly stifled. They weren’t as tantalizing as something else.

“Beg.” The word hissed against Hal’s neck, causing both Clark and Hal to tremble. Possessive licks swept along bare skin. An ardent nip made him keen.

“ _Christ_ , you unbelievable asshole.” Hal ground out through gritted teeth. It lacked venom and the accompanied whimper made it less effective.

“ _Bruce_.” Clark whispered, eyes lidded with bliss. He’d give him what he wanted. _Anything_ he wanted.

The raven-haired seducer rose from the writhing body, pallor aflush with desire and eyes shimmered with the same. Hal strove to catch Bruce in order to have him return, but the illusive man effectively escaped his grasp. Seeking the blue bottle previously discarded, he glazed more lube onto his cock.

Amusement shown in those tempting blues now. Hal’s gaze had dropped to the piece of his lover that would soon burrow within him. He twitched in anticipation, hands restless as they moved along his perspiring body or tangled hair.

Bruce positioned himself over Hal, an arm lifting a leg while guiding himself to Hal. Hands flew to him, a firm hold around his shoulders. His cock rubbed his pre-cum against Hal’s primed hole. “Is that who’s about to fuck you senseless?”

“ _Oh god_ , will—”

“Wrong again.” Eyes never left the other as Bruce nudged the moistened entrance. “Mm. I don’t think you want me as badly as you claim if you’re thinking about someone else.”

Still no condom? Bruce hadn’t ever entered Hal without one before. That would be unbelievably _hot_ …

Hazily, Clark sought the toy next to him, eyes never leaving what he viewed miles away. He wanted to smear the dildo in lube, but it would take too long, be too arduous, and wasn’t necessary.

If Hal had been in the right state of mind, he would have deduced that Bruce neared his threshold as well. Clark wondered if he would be aware of the hand on Hal’s thigh that gripped hard enough to bruise if he were Hal.

Or attentive to the slight tremor of anticipation running through Bruce.

Even how his breaths shortened imperceptibly.

If Clark could possibly be mindful in such a situation, he would make _him_ beg.

He groaned into the emptiness of his room, pressing the toy against himself. He needled his ass and felt it pucker excitedly in want. “Make _him_ do it.”

Except it wouldn’t happen. Bruce loved to watch Hal unravel beneath him _before_ they even started, they all understood. He relished the inner struggle that wrought Hal—submit to his body’s wants by conceding to his lover’s demands or hold out for further torment. Instant versus delayed gratification. Traditionally, Hal chose the latter simply to endearingly aggravate Bruce.

But apparently this was a night of firsts.

“For _fuck’s sake_ , Bruce.” The awaited desperate cry. “ _Please fuck me—aah!_ ” A loud moan left Hal as his sweet center relented, spreading to admit the turgid length. It suckled at the head selfishly, reminiscent of Bruce’s past action. It tightly gripped his shaft as he burrowed further.

Resistance met Clark as he drove his make-shift companion in while jerking himself. Bliss bloomed within him as the _emptiness_ subsided, clamping down on the welcome intruder. Feverishly, he pushed it within himself. His hips sunk to meet his hand and he sighed pleasurably. Relishing the thickness in him, barely lidded eyes sought the other two to see if they caught up with him.

“ _Bruce_.”

Both arms held up legs now. Hal lie beneath Bruce, a whimpering mess as his lover dragged himself out to push in further. Bruce fared no better—choked gasps left him, head tilted back as he eased himself in, likely due to the suffocating heat surrounding his cock.

Did he feel like Clark now—euphorically laden due to being filled?

Was he agonizing over Bruce’s shallow thrusts?

Impatient because he wanted him to move?

When fully seated, Clark observed Bruce’s rigidity. He wouldn’t move before his lover adjusted to him. Hal pumped himself, reveling in the erotically tormented blues. The silent plea brought a satisfied chuckle from him.

“Give it to me.”

Then Bruce did something new—unanticipated by Clark. He set the pace _slow_. It confused him so that he stopped to stare.

Bruce’s thrusts were deep and fast in order to relieve Hal’s craving and his own. He buried himself entirely so that his balls smacked against flesh lewdly. But when he hauled himself out, he ensured that both of them could _feel_ his engorged cock drag along every inch of Hal’s inner muscles.

In times past whenever Clark espied the two, Bruce preferred to watch his cock impale into Hal vigorously. He reveled at the sight of the bruised ring he assaulted or the slickened cock that was the cause, drawing himself out so far that Hal protested. His veined member invaded him quickly to silence him.

But now…now his passionate eyes never strayed from Hal. Bruce intently regarded how Hal produced sultry sounds whenever he rooted him. Parted lips breathed his name sensually. Enamored coppers cherished the worship revealed in his lover’s wintry blues. Cheeks flushed rouge due to how Bruce made _him_ feel.

Clark withdrew the dildo, eyes wide as he carefully removed himself from the bed, approaching his window.

Nails delved into the flesh of his ass. Bruce groaned as Hal rolled against him, chasing his consistently fleeing cock. The brunette unconsciously goaded him by daubing his upper lip. Bruce secured them with his own, licking for permission. When they separated, he eagerly sought out Hal’s tongue.

Fear coiled around Clark’s heart as their tongues did the same. Their hearts raced in tandem—but not due to exertion or what he had erroneously thought was expectation. Muscular bodies synchronized beautifully. An unprotected cock dove into Hal’s crevice lovingly.

“ _Fuck babe._ ” His tone was raspy. Clark knew he was close. And that _hurt_.

Bruce hadn’t mean to brush Hal’s spot so early, but the face he made compelled him to intensify his thrusts so he could see it again. Leaning over Hal, he shifted so that the new angle would only center on Hal’s prostate. Avidly penetrating him, he listened to the escalating cries from beneath him. The sounds from the creaking bed increased.

Brandishing his head vehemently did nothing to stop Clark from visualizing the pure _love_ on Bruce’s face. Dropping Bruce’s rubber impersonation, fingers splayed against the glass. Hauntingly, he peered at Hal arcing into his lover. He shouted his name as Bruce pounded into him, the headboard thrashing against the wall noisily.

 _They’re making love._ Clark alarmingly realized. He thought their liaisons were casual. Ruminating over past observations, he discerned no emotion shown during their trysts besides lust. But what played before him exhibited a deep-seated connection that evolved over a number of sessions.

“ _Hal_.”

No. No, it’s _Kal_. He screamed in his mind…until the echo drifted into his ears.

“ _Bruce. Fuck Bruce, I’m—I’m gonna—”_

Profound agony replaced arousal. Tears burned his eyes as Clark helplessly looked on to what would never be his.

Fingers tangled in his damp hair as Hal jerked himself roughly. Eccentric thrusts brutalized Hal, but it wasn’t in pursuit of Bruce’s release. He wanted to witness the delectable look of wanton devotion when he came. The familiar predicative clues manifested—crinkled brows, hoarse breaths, taut body oiled with sweat, copper eyes rolled back—moments before Hal convulsed beneath him.

Streams of warm cum spilled from him, splashing against their heated skin. As his lover spent himself, Bruce closed his eyes, flinging his head back. Balls contracted while he nestled fully in him.

Hal gasped as Bruce emptied himself into him. His cock throbbed painfully with release and he felt Hal clinch around him, determined to keep all of Bruce inside of him. Bliss encompassed him as he dropped Hal’s legs, collapsing onto him shortly afterward. He felt himself being embraced.

Clark’s forehead pressed against the pane as he grated his fingertips against it—not hard enough to break, but enough to leave claw marks. The whispered words from the love of his life caused the first tear to run down his cheek, a sob escaping his throat.

* * *

“I’m guessing we finally fucked the anger away.” Hal breathed into his ear. “Don’t get used to these kinds of apologies, Spooky. Your dick can’t solve everything.”

Bruce fought back a smile.

He had been absolutely livid, enough to call off what they were doing yet not inform Hal. The tradition of mistletoe didn’t matter—snogging Barry Allen at the Justice League Christmas Party was _not_ okay.

In retaliation, Bruce called Selina Kyle, knowing that Hal would be waiting in his master suite. He fucked her on the loveseat in the living room while Hal watched from the top of the balustrade.

It earned him a punch in the jaw and an emotionally damaged Hal shouting that he _hated_ him. The next few hours were a blur—a flurry of blocks and punches, shed clothes, back scratches and moans in that order before beginning again.

They stared at each other, breaths slowing and rapid pulses subsiding. No doubt about it: they were a fucked up pair.

Hal angled his head closer to Bruce.

“Marry me.”

Surprise entered amber eyes, carefully discerning if the billionaire was being serious. He _looked_  sincere enough, his stern face peering back at him. But that tended to his typical look.

Hal snorted. “Why am I surprised that _you_ would ruin our after-glow?” He stilled as Bruce shifted, his cock moving inside of him.

A rising blush caused a cheeky smirk. Heart hammered not only because of the fantastic love they made, he responded. “I’m serious.”

A very stark fear sprouted within him. There is no denying that the proposal was made on impulse. They hadn’t even been official. They went on occasional dates, but ended up screwing. It could impede on their lives in so many ways.

Yet…after witnessing Hal become undone because of him, try to maim him because Bruce had viciously fucked someone in front of him, sob out that he loved him as he furiously moved inside him on hardwood floor, Bruce realized he loved him too. No one would ever take him away.

The tawny-haired man frowned. “Why? So you can stick your dick into anyone whenever you’re angry?”

“You _kissed_ him.” Bruce ground out through gritted teeth.

“And that justifies _fucking_ someone? You’re damn lucky that it was a thousand dollar kiss.” Frigid eyes glittered dangerously.

Hal sighed, rolling his own and explained. “Ollie and I made a bet a few weeks ago that I would kiss anyone I met under mistletoe for two minutes. In exchange, I get a thousand dollars or favors. I couldn’t lose—Ollie would collect on the favors.”

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “So because of a _bet_ you two stupidly made, you kissed Barry?”

“That’s a _thousand_ dollars, dickwad!” Hal scowled. “Chump change to you two. So what’s _your_ excuse? You slipped and your dick fell into her pussy?”

"Batman doesn't  _slip_."

"He sure did this time."

Bruce exhaled heavily. He had made a mistake—one that he couldn’t afford to make any more if he wanted to keep Hal around. He decided to be honest.

“I wanted to hurt you how you hurt me.”

“And then you propose as an apology with your dick still inside of me and cum dripping from me. How romantic, Bruce.”

He shifted his head on his pillow, catching the flash of pain dwelling in Hal. “I proposed because I love you too.” His lover’s flush deepened. “And I promise that it won’t happen again, Hal. I don’t want anyone but you.”

“How do I know?” He spoke quietly.

“Because you’ll be taking half of what I own if I do.”

Hal studied him for a few moments, still disbelieving. Then he pressed their lips together.

“Guess I should call Barry." He murmured. "He should still be up.”

“Why?” He groused irritably. Bruce had already made a mental note to speak to Oliver Green about his moronic bets. He would now have to talk to Barry to keep him away from Hal.

“To ask him to be my best man.” The mirth tone knew of the other man's jealousy. Bruce hummed into the kiss as Hal continued to mumble against his lips. “You have a call to make too, you know?”

“Mm." Yeah. He did. But it didn't have to be right now. He preferred another session with Hal. "True. But I’ll call Clark in the morning.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a SuperBat fan, but there's something about Hal and Bruce that I love as well. Thanks for reading. :D


End file.
